Unleashed
by The Ultimate Otaku
Summary: Harry, yr 7, is haunted by nightmares; strange things happen when he is alone. He refuses help. Severus is reluctantly involved when a violent public crisis brings him face to face with a Potter he has never seen before. Only he dares to try help. SNARY
1. Chapter 1

_This fic is being written in response to a challenge on Walk the Plank dot org. I won't say which it is...;D I would like to thank snarry-reader and other sources I can't remember right this second for inspiration. I would like to thank AbstractConcept for the excellent description of Severus Snape as "never, ever nice."_

_But what am I doing thanking people? I'm a newbie to writing and reading Snarry. I don't even know why I'm submitting this, except I need help. Is Harry too immature? Is Snape not mean enough? Are there any Snarry fics that are AMAZING that I should read?_

_Please be gentle. It's my first time! ;D Apologies for far too many "Merlin" jokes, I just find them fun. _

_* Fic Title may be changed_

**UNLEASHED**

A Snarry fic

by The Ultimate Otaku

* * *

Harry was in History of Magic when it happened again.

This time, he was chained to a tombstone. It was like when Voldemort had returned to life, except the tombstone was above him, and he hung from it, suspended in space. The chains bit hard into his wrists, making him bleed. He was surrounded by nothingness, darkness, but a circle of invisible beings, friend or foe, whirled around him. They chanted in a hissing, sibilant, groaning, moaning language which reminded him sometimes of Parseltongue.

As they whirled around him, he could smell the sweat and rot from their bodies. Occasionally something wet or hairy would glide against his body. It was, again, like the time Voldemort had risen from the dead, because that same feeling of dread rose up in Harry's throat.

What was brushing up against him? Who was chanting? Were they friendly, or preparing to kill him or eat him?

When he tried to get free of his bonds, they only tightened. They became so tight that he felt his bones might break. He was wandless and visionless. He could only taste, smell and feel and hear. Deprived of any sense of security, he hung there, shivering.

The creatures rushed at him. Screams erupted from all directions. They were high-pitched and horror-filled, reminding Harry of his mother's death cry. Perhaps these creatures were dementors, summoning that horrid cry into his ears. He shook as they crowded against him, stroking him, whispering to him.

He began to suffocate, and his bones were crushed by their heavy bodies, which became heavier the closer that he felt to death. He opened his eyes and saw that the creatures – black blobs, he couldn't really see them – carried bodies in their arms.

He recognized the bodies. Luna lay twisted, her mouth contorted in a silent scream. Neville hung with a rope tight around his reddened neck. Molly and Arthur Weasley lay twitching in a final embrace. Dumbledore, as he had appeared at the bottom of the tower, was also there, along with Sirius, James, and Lily. Finally there was Hermione, her skin ripped from her face, and Ron, blood gushing from a hole in his chest, feebly begging Harry to save him.

A scream shot from Harry's mouth, and while his mouth was open, the creatures rushed inside of him. And then he began to burn from the inside out...

Harry woke with a jolt, and his chair screeched forward and slammed loudly into the table in front of him. Shit, shit, shit! He hated that nightmare! Why the hell couldn't he ever stay awake in class! He hated Binns for being so damn boring, too.

Harry reluctantly opened his eyes.

Binns went on with his lecture, but every student in the room had their eye on him. Harry ducked his head down, coughing. Great, another reason for them to stare at him now. There had been reports all summer that he was grieving over Dumbledore, and even one inane article that he was furious with McGonagall for being Headmistress now. The worst parts were the ones that said that Voldemort planned an attack on Hogwarts, and was Harry ready?

(The answer was no; he was still looking for horcruxes, but had been convinced by Ron and Hermione to stick around for at least fall term).

There was a sour taste in his mouth. He shifted his head fractionally to the right, towards Ron. He didn't want Hermione across the way to see him talking and ask what he said. He didn't want everyone to hear this: "Did I scream or anything?"

Ron bit his lip. His eyes were wide and his face was pale. "Er, yeah, mate. You alright?"

Bollocks. If only he could wake up without a scream. "Sure, I'm -" Harry tried to center himself in his chair and it toppled backwards. Ron caught it before his head could slam into the table behind them. "Fine, just fine."

"Right," Ron said. "This is the second time you fell asleep and woke up like that in class. You're just _dandy_. Maybe you should go to the Hospital Wing? Was it..."

"It wasn't him." Harry sighed. Ever since the summer when they had spent time with the Order, things had been tenser around Harry's connection to Voldemort's mind. If only it had just been that, so he could have a clue as to where the rest of the horcruxes were!

"Okay," Harry growled. The Hospital Wing was inevitable, it seemed. He shrugged off Ron's hand from his shoulder and glared back at Hermione's concerned look. She'd gotten to sitting next to Ginny more often lately. Ever since Harry had broken up with her a month ago, Hermione had tried to get them back together. Couldn't they give up on "Ginevra Potter" already?

Ginny was pretty and Ginny was smart. But she didn't fit Harry after all. A summer spent mostly at the Burrow, where he had been plagued by her coddling and cuddling nature when all he had wanted was to explode everything, had taught him that. Sure, when he defeated Voldemort maybe he would appreciate her cuddling and gentleness. But what if he didn't? It was, frankly, annoying.

Besides...Harry had started keeping tabs, mentally, on his fellow blokes at Hogwarts. It was a whisper that had gotten fiercer within him the last couple years. He was seventeen. He had little time before he had to be out in the world. Now was the time to explore and figure himself out. Of course, Voldemort would make sure he had no time for that. But without Ginny around, well, he could wish now, couldn't he?

When he tried to stand up, another round of dizziness hit him. He clutched at the next table up, croaking, "Sorry" to Ernie MacMillan and some other bloke. They stared as he stumbled past. He wove a drunkard's zig-zag trail to the door.

By the time he reached the corridor outside, Harry could barely walk. There was no way he was going to trip and crawl his way to the Hospital Wing! Besides, he didn't want the attention. People were still giving him awed stares and whispering about his fulfilling his "purpose of life" as "The Chosen One."

Seriously? If killing Voldemort was the purpose of life, then he had nothing to look forward to next summer. He planned to get Voldemort before the year was out. Meanwhile he had plans for the future. Shacklebolt had promised to put him in Auror training, and Lupin was already giving Harry some extra DADA tips.

Harry pressed up hard against the wall for support, and shuffled along with his head down. Like this, he made his way to Myrtle's bathroom. There, he slammed past a door into a stall, and fell to his knees. He felt like he was going to throw up his entire breakfast. His stomach heaved. He'd had treacle earlier, usually his favorite, but today it had tasted bitter.

Where were all the nightmares coming from? They came almost nightly now, and they always involved corpses, or his own death, and the creatures becoming him or eating him. Hermione insisted he tell one of the professors, but Harry refused.

Voldemort was soon to be dead, damn it, and Harry wanted _normal_, sweet Merlin. He wanted to play Chess with Ron. He wanted to win the Quidditch Cup one more time. He wanted to survive Potions and leave a good _fuck you _prank, Fred-and-George style, at Snape's door. He wanted to visit Dumbledore's portrait and Hogsmeade. He wanted to journal about his relief at being away from Ginny, which was ironic, because she had started him on journaling. He wanted to scout Hogwarts for attractive blokes, and not deny that.

Instead, here he was, practically nose-to-nose with a toilet bowl. A headache grinded through him and his stomach roiled. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck.

"Merlin's balls, Harry," he whispered to himself, "You've gone through hell and back. A flu isn't going to destroy everything. Get up."

He tried to stand, but his knees shook too much, so he knelt back down.

Myrtle's see-through head appeared in the toilet. "Looking for me?"

Great! Just what he needed! Why was it that every time he needed some time alone, someone showed up?

"Go away." It came out a hoarse croak.

Myrtle suddenly drew back. "Whoa! Your eyes!"

"What about them?" Harry tried to choke up something out besides words, but nothing came up. He shook his head to get away the sweat threatening to block his vision. What was Myrtle on about now?

"Your eyes went dark for a moment..." Her voice became musing. "But now they're normal again. ...Creepy!"

Harry wiped his fringe from his forehead. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. That's why I like you. Terrible things happen to you...We'll see how you die; maybe it will be even grander and sadder than my death. The unusual clings to you."

"It's not unusual," he retorted in a wheezy whisper. "It's just a flu. Or a cold. I don't get sick often, so I'm not used to it, but it'll pass."

He stayed in bed for the rest of the afternoon, and rushed to dinner late to meet Ron and Hermione.

"Hey!" He smiled at them, thinking, _There. They'll see that I'm okay now. _

"Oi," Ron slammed an arm over Harry's shoulder, and it felt like a hot iron. Harry shrugged it off. Maybe he had a fever, too?

He requested soup, and when it appeared, drank it down quickly. He got a second one, and a third, and when he was done with a fourth, Hermione looked up from her book.

"Harry, that's a lot of soup. Why so hungry?"

"Dunno," Harry said through a mouthful of bread roll. "Slept a lot. Sick maybe still."

He turned to Ron. "How'd Quidditch practice go without me? I'm sorry I slept through it."

"Sick?" Hermione scooted a little away from him. "I can't afford that. We're almost halfway to winter break, Harry! Tests are coming up soon." Then, more quietly, "Since when do you sleep through Quidditch practice?"

"Since nightmares," Ron whispered. He was leaning in so they could hear him. "Right, Harry?"

"Since nothing! Shut it, Ron!" It came out loudly, and a few fellow Gryffindors looked at him.

Harry scowled at them all, and downed a glass of pumpkin juice.

He turned away from Ron, only to see Hermione staring at him. "Harry...no reason to be so angry. We all know you've been having trouble sleeping lately. I'm glad you got some sleep this afternoon...hold on, turn towards the light?"

Harry tilted his head up. "What?" He had wanted to be angry with her when she tried to placate him, but now his anger dissipated suddenly.

Hermione squinted at him, leaning in a moment, and then sat back. "...Nothing. I thought I saw your eyes change color, but I guess it was just a trick of the light." She returned to her book.

_Her, too? That's like what Myrtle said earlier. ...Odd._ Harry was determined to dismiss it and not think of it anymore. People's eyes did not change color. He had always had odd eyes, anyway - Lily's eyes. If his eyes ever changed color, everyone would notice. Ha! Another reason for them all to stare at him. He was so sick of everyone and their staring and talking.

They would see. He would be an Auror, and then they would have a _good_ reason to talk about him.

Harry turned to Ron and they quickly descended into a Quidditch discussion. It continued back to the Common Room before Hermione forced them to stop for a homework session. By the time Harry was done with Potions, he was about ready to kill Severus Snape. Why oh why hadn't the Ministry given him a trial yet for killing Dumbledore? Snape was doubling Potions with DADA now, so after that essay they had to toil over three feet on vampires.

At least it meant that Snape wouldn't get to teach DADA again, since Voldemort had cursed the position. Unfortunate that Harry had to be still at Hogwarts in the year that Snape taught it. The bastard…

Harry woke up hours later at midnight. What had woken him?

He listened to the quiet breathing of Ron in the next bed over, and Neville snoring down the row. Nothing. No nightmares, thank Merlin. He was getting so sick of them! And he seemed cursed to always have the boring classes before lunch, so that he'd be more tempted to fall asleep.

He felt wildly energized and awake. The night was alive! Forget normal, he wanted a night time adventure and a think. He grabbed his Cloak and whirled out into the corridors of Hogwarts. Maybe Hedwig wouldn't mind a late night visitor?

Passing through the corridors of Hogwarts, Harry felt relieved. He barely got any alone time lately. Everyone was always staring at him. He felt like even when he was alone, someone was watching him. The nightmares did not help. He'd had them for two weeks now, and for the past week, he never slept without one. Because he was sleep-deprived, he'd started falling asleep in classes. If Hermione knew how much, she would be furious. Ron knew all of it, which was why he kept nagging Harry about the Hospital Wing.

Hmm. What would Madam Pomfrey do if he showed up at the Hospital Wing at night?

Forget it. The night was too amazing. He walked slowly, pausing to hear the snores and chatter of the paintings, and the armor creaking. The night sky on the ceiling was full of bright stars.

He sighed deeply. Relaxation like he hadn't felt in so long settled over his shoulders. Here, he could think about everything, even the big things, like Dumbledore and Voldemort...and he could think of the blokes he knew and didn't know, and the inkling ideas he had of what he'd like to do with them. Mmm...

But he could also just drift and think of nothing. No eyes stared at him, no ghosts noticed him, and he avoided any signs of Peeves like the plague. The castle was his.

Harry felt more comfortable with Lupin than anyone else these days. He'd almost blurted to the werewolf last week how he had started to look at blokes differently in the past year or so, but chickened out at the last minute.

Well, plenty of time to figure that out. Plenty of time to figure out anything! Harry smiled. He couldn't wait till Voldemort was gone. It would be splendid not having a Dark Lord behind his back or in his head to deal with. He would have so much time.

As he ascended the stairs to the Owlery, he noticed something unusual: it was silent.

The Owlery was never silent. There was always action going on. Even during the day when the owls often slept, there would be a little bit of chirping noise, or you could hear their talons scratching against their stands, _something. _It was a comfortable hubbub that Harry always right now, there was nothing. Not a single feather rustle or hoot met Harry's ears.

He took the Cloak off and stuffed it into his robes pocket before opening the Owlery gate. Barty Crouch Junior as Mad-Eye had taught him _constant vigilance_!, and Lupin had reinforced this. Harry whispered a quick _lumos_.

The room appeared empty but for one white owl. Harry crept softly into the room and flashed his light in every corner and nook.

No enemy presented itself. Harry bent over the white owl and realized who it was.

"Hedwig? What's wrong?"

His owl stared up at him with wide, wide eyes. When he reached out a hand to pet her, she squawked loudly, and her wings lifted as if she might fly away. She was shivering.

"Hedwig..." Harry made his voice gentler, and drifted his hand down, down through her feathers. They were so soft. "What are you afraid of?"

A thrill shivered up Harry's back. He cast some of the spells Lupin had recently taught him, to check for intruders and recent visitors. The results were dull and normal. There was nothing that would frighten an entire Owlery into flying away. They couldn't all be hunting at the same time. Why was only Hedwig here?

Harry looked outside the window and studied the walls for some outside intruder. Maybe an Animagus like Skeeter had skittered away? He was reminded suddenly of that old Dracula tale, and how the title vampire had been able to crawl up and down walls like a lizard.

Then he sat on the windowsill and stared across the room at Hedwig. This was a fine spot for musing, especially with the night breeze, but he couldn't ignore his nervous owl. She fidgeted where she sat. He watched her scratch a toe against the stone, and then, as if deciding to stick out the battle, she became still and stared back at him.

Her expression still seemed to him to be afraid. Harry wasn't an owl expert, but this owl was _his._ He knew her moods and expressions. Hedwig was staring at him with fear. She was an old friend. Why was his friend afraid of him?

Anger trickled into Harry just a little, because everything seemed to be going wrong lately. He wanted to feel a bit of control, but instead it was slipping away.

Hedwig gave him one long look and then flew up to a distant corner of the Owlery, further away.

"This is ridiculous," Harry spat. "There's nothing scary about me. I'm not going to hurt you, Hedwig. I'm not going to hurt anyone."

He left the Owlery without petting her again, and found himself half an hour later standing nearly inside the Forbidden Forest.

He shook himself. It was freezing out here! And how the hell had he gotten here? He tried to remember descending the stairs to the first floor, and then down the grounds, but all that came up were other memories of doing that. So he pulled his Cloak tighter around him and stared out into the Forest.

_Ignore it. Just ignore it. The eye changing colors and the quiet owlery _are _weird. But memory trouble? That's just from lack of sleep. If the nightmares weren't going on, I'd be sleeping fine, and everything would be normal. Once I get a decent sleeping potion under way, I'll be fine. I just have to buy the ingredients...or ask Snape...argh._

Harry raised his chin up and scented the air. It smelled like sweet pine, and there was an earthy, underlying smell, too, like wet soil. He imagined he could hear the bugs slithering in the dirt, and the trees creaking under a slight breeze. Ahh. His head felt so much clearer out here.

But...the Forest seemed unusually quiet, too, just like the Owlery. Harry couldn't even hear any crickets singing or any other normal, background noises for Hogwarts grounds. Fang was silent. Hagrid's hut was dark. No owls hooted, and there wasn't even a single deer traipsing about. Harry wished a centaur would pop up out of the blue. Everything felt so dead and ominous.

He poked his head beneath a branch, seeking for he knew not what. Maybe there was some creature out there, a giant spider or something worse, scaring the animals away. He wouldn't mind meeting it. Normal was good and well, but right now, Harry welcomed a fight. He wanted to release this tension boiling in him.

Not enough to enter the Forest alone, though. Nothing peeked out at him from that impenetrable black. Harry sighed, kicked the ground with his toe, and returned to the castle.

* * *

Severus was _not_ having a good day. He had slept fitfully, and now someone was banging at his door. Merlin's tits!

He wrenched himself out of bed and performed a quick _scourgify _and another quick spell to make his clothes unwrinkled. Glaring at the mirror, he kicked it, and then stalked through his office and down the hallway to the big mahogany door.

"What _is_ it?"

He found himself staring down at Granger. Why was she here, of all people? He hated any reminder of Potter that came by these days. The teenager had been avoiding him the entire term so far. It was nice not having those green Lily eyes and that full mouth hover in his vision...

"Professor, I'm so sorry to disturb you. But it's very important."

The young woman squared her shoulders and hefted her books higher in her arms. Severus frowned. "Get on with it. What is it."

She coughed. "Well, it's Harry, sir. He...he hasn't been sleeping well. He gets nightmares almost every night. He hasn't been telling me, but I can tell. His studies are suffering. Honestly, he's miserable. And he keeps saying he's going to make a good sleeping potion or go to the Hospital Wing, but I've talked to Madam Pomfrey and he hasn't gone. He's been especially irritable, too. I was wondering if...if you could help. Maybe he...maybe he needs Occlumency lessons again? Could I at least get some potions ingredients from you? Then I could help him myself."

Severus grunted. So. The Potter boy was in trouble yet again. So far this term, he had been...distant. Troubled, yes. He didn't talk in class. That was a first! He didn't sleep, either. He turned in his essays on time, even, and Severus hated to admit it, but Potter was surprisingly good at his DADA. Not necessarily _Auror_ material, as had been whispered about, but...something a bit beyond ordinary, indeed.

"Mister Potter can gain some sleep while skiving off classes, Miss Granger. Just make sure he doesn't skive off mine."

That said, Severus closed the door. He smiled to hear the girl squawk in dismay and the satisfying crunch of the heavy door. Ignoring the knocking that commenced, he returned to his quarters.

He mixed together a quick potion to zap some energy into himself, and while he waited, returned to the book he had been perusing last night. In the midst of zargles and zoots, he found himself thinking of the upcoming Quidditch match. Gryffindor versus Slytherin. What sort of game would it be, with Gryffindor's famed Seeker in bad shape?

Fuck Severus' mind for admiring the boy's clean, smooth flying, and wondering if any of that agility on a broom spread to other areas. There was no denying that the arrogant git of a boy was growing into a man. If only he wasn't in both of Severus' classes, so that Severus could get some reprieve.

"Nightmares, my arse," Severus hmphed. "He's probably spending all night wandering his dear, precious castle in that bedamned cloak."

He swirled his way to a horrifyingly early Potions class with the First Years, and then struggled to keep himself from falling asleep through another with the Second Years. By the time DADA with Fourth Year Hufflepuff and Slytherin rolled around – which always involved preventing some sort of stupid bullying on the part of his House, damn them – his temper was short.

"MISTER INGLES! If you club Miss Shirl against the wall one more time, I will personally hang you from my office by your toenails, allow Filch to torture you as he likes, and feed you a potion that will make hell look like paradise. Detention for a week, seven p.m., in my office."

The students' wide-eyed looks dissipated into quiet chatter, and Severus overheard one of Ingles' friends say, "Blimey, he usually reserves that sort of shrieking for Potter. You really got the sauce. Wonder whose broomstick he has up his arse this morning?"

Severus exhaled sharply through his nose. "Mister Rott. A single more mention that involves broomsticks coupled with my arse, and I will personally feed yours to the giant arachnids in the Forbidden Forest. Silence."

He smirked at their grimaces, and was just checking on the potions work of one Miss Evergreen when a student slammed into the room.

"Professor Snape! Professor!"

Severus looked down at the short, breathless freckled boy hanging onto the door handle for dear life. "Yes?"

"H-Headmistress McGonagall needs you. Accident in – Seventh Year Transfiguration – "

"I'm sure Minerva is quite capable of handling it by herself. Or did she send for me?"

"Yes, sir," the boy gasped. "It's Potter."

* * *

_Please tell me what you think... And...sorry...do I use 'boy' too many times?_

*Cry for help for this fic*


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you all SO much for the reviews! *hugs* I love you all!_

_Dear oh dear though...as with my other challengefic, I've used up most of my prompts...wish me luck..._

_Question: Is this chapter cheesy?_

* * *

**UNLEASHED**

****A Snarry fic

_by The Ultimate Otaku  
_

* * *

_Severus_

"Hmph." Severus nodded to the board and spelled the last instructions on it, barking out, "If you are all not present and still possessing your humanity, limbs, and dare we hope a shred of dignity when I return, it will be my pleasure to put you all in detention cleaning greenhouses for Professor Sprout for a week."

He eyed them all with one hard glance before leaving the room. As soon as he was a few feet away he asked, "You said it's Potter? What's going on?"

Freckles chugged to keep up with Severus' long strides, and was huffing and puffing. He was a little fat. "It's Potter, sir. He, uh...we were..."

Severus stopped abruptly to give the boy some breathing time. "Speak up, man. Get it out!"

"Uh, uh..." Freckles gasped and swallowed. "Potter. We were transfiguring exotic animals for class, sir, and suddenly a snake from Matilda's desk went to Potter's desk, and then another one, and then there were loads of 'em, sir, spilling in from all over the place, outside of the classroom! They surrounded Potter, crawling all over him – it was disgusting – and they were hissing and he was speaking to them and shouting and the Headmistress can't seem to stop it, and then Potter got really angry with the snakes and – and - "

Severus started his walk again, and this time it was faster. "Go on," he ordered.

Freckles said nothing. He just shook his head. "You'll see, sir."

'You'll see' was the vaguest, most irritating phrase that had ever been invented, Severus reflected. He was cutting corners now, bumping into students, but he didn't care. This was serious. He half-wished Freckles would leave and stop darting worried glances up at him, while at the same time he wished the boy would talk, to help prepare Severus for whatever he was going to see.

Potter had better not gotten himself into some huge mess!

Suddenly his progress was halted as a stream of students spilled past. There were tens of them, rushing by in big groups. He noticed that some of them had faces blackened with ash. Others had red, shiny burn wounds flaring on various body parts. One student rode by on a floating desk, and two Slytherins watched two chairs slam in the air over and over again.

"MINUS THIRTY HOUSE POINTS," Severus bellowed to the desk-rider, and struck the chairs down to the ground with one violent flick of his wand. With another, he whipped a quick spell backwards to hit one of the idle students with a swelling spell, giving her a moment of panic. Then he cast a quick _finite incantatum_. He already had a pending trial with the Wizengamot in the spring, why press things further?

The classroom that he entered was chaos. The stink of burning flesh rose acrid into his nostrils. Wounded and coughing students wailed and groaned in pain on every side. Desks and chairs had been charred into ash. He hoped none of the ashes were students. Unless they had been particularly atrocious, that is.

He slammed into a table, swearing, and then bit his tongue in surprise as a ton of snakes fled from the other side and glided over his feet.

"Damn it." He lifted the neckline of his robes to cover his mouth and nose. The smoke was thicker the closer he got to the front of the classroom. "Where is Minerva?"

A quivery voice answered. "Here, Severus."

He looked. There, leaning up against her desk like it was helping her from falling, was Minerva. Her face was ashy, too, and her hat was lopsided. She was shaking.

Severus reached out, and then let his hand drop. "Are you wounded?"

"No, no..." She laughed a manic, stressed laugh. "Just tired. I don't know what to do with him, Severus, he exhibits power after power. How did Dumbledore ever keep up with him?"

"Hmph. He didn't. Minerva, what did he do?"

"I don't know, Severus." She coughed against an arm. "I don't know. It was an explosion. It was...well, it wasn't really him, I don't think."

"What on earth do you mean?"

She raised her eyebrows meaningfully.

Severus frowned. "What? The Dark Lord?"

She shrugged. "Maybe. I think the Order should meet. He's gone berserk on us, Severus. Maybe the stress was too much..."

"Let me handle it," Severus growled. "That's why you sent for me. Go back to your office. You shouldn't be teaching, anyway. You're headmistress now."

"Right." Minerva snorted. "What am I supposed to do? No one thinks Hogwarts is safe anymore, what with Dumbledore gone and with you…well…"

Severus grinned nastily, "My being questionable."

"Well…they just don't find us capable enough, obviously. They think Voldemort's going to attack Hogwarts at any second. I can't find us enough teachers, so…I took this upon myself. I wish we could have gotten Slughorn back so I could put you on Transfiguration, but he was too afraid."

The Headmistress sighed heavily. She looked behind her towards a corner on Severus' left. "I'm going now. Harry's over there in the corner – I...I tried to calm him…He only got angrier, and everything exploded in flames. No spells would stop them; they were unquenchable and just kept growing. I had to get students out and I was trying to stop him but nothing worked, and...There was a strange aura about him...like some sort of Dark Arts. But we already know who his biggest enemy is, and this doesn't seem _his_ style, does it?"

"No." Severus let his wand slide easily from his sleeve into his hand. "Get out of here."

Minerva left with one reluctant backward glance.

Severus stayed silent and crept forward. Glass and book spines crackled underfoot as he stepped around the corner of Minerva's desk. When his boots hit stone floor, he walked a little more cautiously, slow and steady.

A distinctive head of dark hair was all he could see at first. Then he spelled the smoke away with a wave of his wand and stopped in the corner of the room.

Harry Potter sat against the stone wall. His head was bent down and he held his wand firmly in his right hand. His robes were tattered and burned, but he hadn't attended to his wounds. His black hair was wilder than Severus had ever seen, like a blizzard had just swept through it. He was tapping the heel of his palm against his thigh, as if he were…waiting for something. Or someone.

What disturbed Severus was the grin on Potter's face. He couldn't see the young man's eyes beyond that messy fringe, but the grin was unconcealed. It was a wide grin, showing the pointier teeth at the edges. There was something about it that made Severus cautious.

He whispered a quiet _Protego_ to protect himself and stepped forward.

"Mister Potter? What do you have to say for yourself?"

Potter lifted his head, but it was more like his head rolled to the side and up. The grin was tilted to one side now. Potter brushed his fringe aside a little with one carefree, loose hand. Now Severus could see his eyes.

They were black.

There was no Lily in those eyes, only a dark, hungry creature. The black expanded as Potter looked at Severus, creeping in little veins from that black pupil and black iris, until the entirety of those eyes were black.

"Why, Severus," Potter said, "I was wondering when you would arrive."

Severus shivered despite himself. The voice that came from Potter's mouth was deep and throaty, too deep, with a Parseltongue sort of hissing underlying every syllable.

He stood up. Severus flicked his hand forward to send a very dangerous, powerful spell at the monster that had taken over Potter's body.

But his wrist was gripped suddenly in a vice of a hand, so tight he felt it would crush him to dust at any moment. Potter – no, the thing inside of him – laughed, a deep rumbling chuckle. Then slender, callused fingers worked themselves up Severus' hand, and rubbed against the wood of his wand. Potter licked his lips. Severus looked away, gasping. He was trembling all over. Fury and fear and a disquieting desire clashed and swam in him, each one seeking to defeat the other.

He knew what Potter was going to do next, and he would not let him.

"EXPELLIARMUS!" he bellowed, and then he dove for the wand that flew out of Potter's hand, while at the same time he pointed his wand at Potter and shouted, "INCARCEROUS!"

Chains flew out from his wand, but Potter was faster, faster than Severus had ever seen a human be. He slipped to the floor and glided underneath the chains, laughing, and then darted out of the room as a dark blur.

"NO! NO YOU WON'T!"

Severus sped after the devil, cursing as the dark robes disappeared down the corridor and around the corner. He ran the fastest he could, tucking Potter's wand into his pocket for safekeeping. Potter was leaping in giant bounds, cackling as Severus remained just a few yards behind him. Students shrieked and shouted as they were grabbed hold of by Potter and flung bodily up into the air. Severus tried his best to levitate them before they crashed to the floor, while keeping up his pace to chase Potter and capture him. Spells shot out from various wands against their attacker, before they realized it was Potter. But none of them affected him!

He tried to halt Potter, or stun him, or hurt him just a little, but the creature inside Potter evaded his spells. He leapt against the walls and his feet skidded easily against the armored knights, laughing all the while. His movements were sinuous like a snake, but the leaping reminded Severus of the lion that Gryffindor House was known for.

Finally, they reached the doors to the Great Hall. It was dinner, and everyone would see Potter in this mad state –

He shoved the doors open and entered the hall. Severus leapt forward and snapped out a spell to hold him back.

Somehow it worked, perhaps because he had put his everything into it, or because Potter had been still enough this time around. Students stared at the magical, fiery chain that connected Potter to Severus' wand. The nearest ones gasped as they saw the black eyes that stared back at them. Strangely, Potter had become silent as soon as he stepped into the Hall. Was the monster fading? Was Potter inside of his body somewhere, fighting the demon that had taken over?

Potter reached his hand up, and then waved it down, like a man giving a signal for a race to begin. He pointed a single finger, and suddenly one of the Ravenclaw students was torn from his seat, swearing, and pulled into Potter's waiting arms.

Wandless magic! The Hall erupted.

Weasley jumped up, shouting, but his fellows held him back. They could tell something was off.

There was a gasp throughout the Hall that became a frenzied whispering, as Potter kissed the Ravenclaw boy he'd caught squarely on the mouth, and tightened his grip around him. Severus burned, burned higher and higher, and he tried to get his spell to move, to yank Potter back, but some blocked him.

The teachers were in an uproar, shouting, because who had known that Potter had wandless magic? They couldn't see what those nearest could see in Potter's eyes: that he was 'not himself', as Minerva had said. Students traded confused glances. Weasley shouted, "Harry? HARRY!" and struggled against those who held him. Granger for her part was staring with fearful eyes as wide as a House Elf's.

The boy Potter was kissing melted against him like a pliant flobberworm, pleasured. But when Potter moved his attentions to the boy's bare neck, Severus saw the glaze that had come into the Ravenclaw's eyes. Potter was sucking energy from his victim somehow…

Suddenly the Ravenclaw yelped. "Stop that! STOP IT!"

Severus took one glance to see Potter gnawing on the boy's neck, gnawing as hard as he could with his teeth, drawing blood, which he was slurping into himself like some sort of vampire…

The fire in Severus vanished, and he felt only coldness. With this icy anger strengthening him, he whipped his wand in the air once – bam! The Ravenclaw boy was flung back to his seat at the table, groaning and holding his bleeding neck – twice – bam! Potter was in Severus' arms, flailing madly and shrieking, his shriek so high and unnatural, like that of a banshee.

Thrice, a spell so strong that Severus felt himself drained immediately, and a great mass of black smokiness expunged itself from Potter's nose, ears and mouth, shrieking all the while. Then Potter collapsed into Severus' arms.

The Hall was silent. Someone whimpered.

Finally a tiny girl nearest to them asked, "Is he dead?"

The Hall exploded in noise again. Professors and students were set to swarm them; Weasley was bellowing; Professors were forced to spell students back to their seats, because no one would listen. Severus lifted his wand into the air. A loud boom shook the Hall, and everyone froze.

"He is NOT dead!" Severus bellowed into the sudden quiet. He glared at them all, daring them to argue.

Then he left quickly, Potter limp in his arms. The Headmistress' voice got quieter and quieter as he rushed away. No one followed him. Soon, he was deep in the depths of the castle, and there, alone, Severus stumbled into a wall and swore loudly, and then stopped struggling and resigned. He sunk to the ground.

Exhaustion swept through him like an army of wolves. It bit at him and made his limbs shake. His wand shook in his fingers beneath the crook of Potter's knees. He shut his eyes. _Just for one moment,_ he promised, _just one._

He didn't know if he was promising this moment of rest to himself, or to the beleaguered boy he held in his arms.

After a considerable amount of moments, Severus opened his eyes. He was so tired he could barely think, but think he must. Potter was in grave, grave danger.

And he could indeed be dead. He was not breathing.

_Don't think that. Don't think it. Stop._

Panic was starting to eat away at him, and Severus could not ignore it for long. To distract himself, he pressed a thumb hard against the side of Potter's mouth, where blood leaked out. Was that his blood, or the Ravenclaw's?

He stared at those full lips, thinking back to the horrid grin that he had seen on Potter's face, and then to now, where that mouth was closed, pink and attractive.

Severus grimaced over his own folly, his stupid attraction to this decidedly aggravating boy that was neither quite James nor Lily. He was a mix of both, in his looks and manner, but he was also very much his own self. Severus had never met anyone like him, and he doubted he would ever again.

Unbidden, his hand moved up the young man's face, fingers stroking over the soft skin of his cheeks, crossing over the glasses and up, up to that fateful lightning bolt. Severus blew a loud sigh from his nose. Potter had lived through so many things. Surely he would live through this? He had to.

Again without his sanction, Severus found his hand moving up into that thick, wild mass of hair. His fingers got lost in the black forest there, drowned in it. He found himself biting back the urge to follow the move by pressing a firm kiss to that mouth.

"Time to go," Severus growled to himself. He heaved himself up, shaking, and descended all the way down, down, down, to the sweet familiarity of the cold dungeons and his quarters.

His quarters were not very large, but they had always pleased Severus. He had an entire wall dedicated to potions, and two wide shelves crammed with books on the wall opposite his bed. A fireplace burned in the corner furthest from the door, hidden mostly by a couch. Next to his bed, which was the only luxurious piece of furniture, were an assortment of cauldrons and a locked chest of personal items. The walls were cold, bare stone, undecorated but for a cloth tapestry with magical images that changed occasionally.

He placed Potter down on the couch, and then grabbed the largest cauldron and sat it next to the shelves of potion ingredients.

Then, despite himself, he had to check. He had to, anyway, he told himself. What was the use of performing potion and spell work to discover what was wrong with Potter, if Potter were dead? That would be idiotic. Besides, he already suspected what the answer was.

He leaned over the couch, staring down into that familiar face. It was unusually sweet and blank in sleep. _Sleep! Not death!_ He told himself.

He whispered the spell, and fell inside…

* * *

_More soon, but er...ideas are welcome. Throw me some bones. I'm going on a trip minus my computer...I think I'll write and have it done in a week or so, and submit the rest then. Apologies for my bad timing in starting this fic. I just couldn't help myself!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Sorry, all. I think I may be gone for more than a week. I feel bad about the wait! I'll try to write while I'm gone. I just finished writing a novel (rough draft, admittedly) and feel awesome! So here's a third chapter._

_Still feeling I can't quite pin Harry down. I wished he was more independent and less whiny. Will try to improve him in future chapters.  
_

**UNLEASHED**

A Snarry fanfic

by The Ultimate Otaku_**  
**_

* * *

___Severus_

Oh Merlin! Merlin…the creatures within Potter's body grabbed Severus up and squeezed him tight. They whispered to him and tried to take every secret he had from him. But Severus knew Occlumency. He blocked them, powerful though they were. If he could block the Dark Lord, how could he not block them?

Yet…they were powerful. As Severus was diligently explored by the slimy things, he explored them in turn, for he was not trapped in their embrace, though they tried to take his body, too, and tried to take his mind and powers and ingest it, so that their occupation within Potter's body would become unstoppable.

Perhaps they already were unstoppable. Surrounding Potter's core, they had turned it black. It sparkled like a black diamond in the night, invisible, and yet when Severus touched it, it glowed suddenly with a silver light. He held it and tried to examine it, but the invading entities' power was so strong, it blasted him away.

Severus sat up shakily from his spot across the room, and standing up, entered inside once more. This time, he left Potter's core alone, and entered into Potter's mind as he used to do in Occlumency lessons.

Easily he slipped through the walls, which had always been flimsy if not nonexistent. Instead of memories though, he met blurred images and blank spots. He could hear the garble of voices, but they sounded far away. He was relieved that he had not met with utter blankness. Potter still had his mind. After all, he had called Severus by name, and he had perhaps picked out that Ravenclaw boy on purpose. What had that been about?

Severus shoved the distracting question away and plodded instead through the blurred visions of Potter's mind, scrambling for an image that was clear, or a voice that could be properly heard. Until he could clean up the mess in Potter's mind, there was no way the boy would be strong enough to expel the demons that had taken over his body.

Satisfied somewhat, Severus exited the boy's mind, and sat back on his bed.

Demons. How had demons gotten inside Potter's body? Did they have to do with Potter's reported lack of sleep? And why did they make Potter promiscuous and bloodthirsty? The other signs were familiar – the blackened eyes, the violence and anger.

He would test all the components another day. Now, while Potter was still unconscious, he had to get some sleep. He took his pillow from the bed and pushed it gently beneath Potter's head, and taking a heavy quilt from the shrunken-down wardrobe inside his bedside table, he expanded it to normal size and threw it over Potter.

He tucked the edges around Potter's feet. Then he swore, and returned to his bed.

There was no time for sentimentality in this disgusting mess of Potter's. He had to fix the him, before other problems – like the Dark Lord – came crashing down on them.

* * *

Harry's waking consisted of a shiver that ran through his body. He wriggled in his sleep, grasping the blanket and pulling it tighter around himself. There. Now it was cozy. He pushed his head deeper in the pillow, noting that it wasn't as soft nor as plush as the pillow he usually had on his bed. Frowning, Harry turned to the side, and found that his hand brushed against a soft barrier. Pressing it, he noted it was like a firm cushion or a couch.

What? His bed in the Boys' Dormitory did not have a soft wall in any which way. It was wide, and squishier than this mattress, and this pillow did not smell like him at all, but someone else…a smell that was a little tangy, but with an underlying subtle muskiness to it…

Harry sat bolt upright. Where in Merlin's beard was he?

He took in his surroundings. A fire blazed in a black marble fireplace to his right, frighteningly close to the right side of his body. Directly in front of him a wall ran down from the fireplace to a gigantic wooden door. The door had some mythological beings carved on it, he noticed. There was nothing on the wall except a strange glowing tapestry. Two bookshelves sat against it.

Harry ducked down, feeling for his wand in his pocket.

It was not there.

He swallowed back panic and anger and moved his head so he could see over the back of the couch. Hopefully nothing and no one would notice him.

A gigantic bed with white sheets and heavy black curtains sat shoved up against one wall, the curtains open. No one was on it. It was extremely neatly made.

Harry looked behind him.

And suddenly he knew where he was. For on the wall was the most awesome collection of potions supplies he had ever seen. They were on simple stone shelves which came out of the wall. Glass and wooden and marble and ceramic bottles and bowls held them. Some were clustered together in little groups. Others sat wide apart. The ones that were larger were closer to the top – spare supplies? – And the glass ones were mostly towards the bottom. The only sort of organization it seemed to have to it was that everything, absolutely everything, was labeled in a meticulously neat hand. And carved into every single container was the same name, but Harry couldn't make it out.

He squinted, realizing he did not have his glasses on.

Looking around the room, he spotted them on the fireplace. In the corner away from him was a collection of cauldrons which only confirmed the horror and anger that was tight in Harry's throat.

He was in Severus Snape's personal quarters adjacent to the office that Harry never wanted to enter into again. That was why he had been doing well and biting back any protests in both of his classes with Snape, so that he wouldn't have to talk to the man ever again or deal with him whatsoever.

Why was he here?

Harry tried to get up, but the effort alone made him dizzy. He could not even sit up. At the same time, a familiar drawling voice said, "So, you are awake."

Harry stared down the man who had just entered from the fire. He continued to glare as Snape dusted off his robes, and then managed to keep it as Snape leaned in uncomfortably close, peering at Harry's eyes.

"Good," the Potions Master rasped. "You are well again. At least for a time."

"WELL?" Harry shouted. "What do you mean, WELL? I can't MOVE! Get me out of here!"

Harry glared back at his professor's icy look, and they held it for a long time. He would not back down. Finally the professor looked away, something like a smirk curling his mouth. Harry felt relief. It was normal for the Potions master to smirk at him, not for him to say "good" to Harry being "well."

Then Snape sighed, and transfiguring an empty vial into a chair, he sat down with his back to the fire, looking Harry up and down. That look made Harry uncomfortable. He felt like he was being examined by Madam Pomfrey, except it was much more chilling because this was Snape. And thank god the man did not touch him or prod him like Madam Pomfrey would have. Harry noticed the man had his wand in his hand.

"What do you remember last?" Snape asked quietly. He was pressing his fingers gingerly around a red, welted ring around his left wrist.

The question deflated Harry's irritation. He stared at the puffed reddish skin that Snape was playing around and his mind went blank. What _did_ he remember last?

"I…" He cleared his throat. "I…"

And then it came back to him. The snakes, their bodies shivering and gliding all over him, worshipping him with their words, licking their forked tongues into his ears, making everyone stare, even McGonagall, making sure that his last year at Hogwarts was even more reported on than his others, making him squeamish (even though he usually liked them) because they reminded him of his nightmares, making him feel suddenly unbearably hot and filled with fire…

"Snakes," Harry spat. He hated the way his voice shook as he said, "They came in from everywhere, it seemed, and surrounded me, and slid all over me, and I couldn't breathe…I couldn't think…"

He hadn't meant to say all that, but it spilled out of him as he remembered it.

Snape coughed. "And then?"

The irritation returned. Harry growled in his throat. And then, what? Why wasn't he in the Hospital Wing, if something was wrong with him? Why had Snape brought him _here_, to his personal room? Had McGonagall ordered it? Why would she?

The bold, unblinking stare that met him somehow coaxed the boiling point within Harry to a low simmer. Was that a spell? He wouldn't put wandless magic beneath Severus Snape. Nothing seemed to be beneath the Half Blood Prince, the scum…but a formidable scum, nonetheless.

"I was angry," he sighed. "I tried to get them off of me." Why was he telling Snape all of this? He wasn't, really, he realized…he was telling himself. For the more he strained to remember, the more he realized, he could not remember past that point. All he could remember were the snakes being all over him, and everyone around him being angry, alarmed, and afraid, not _for_ him, but _because_ of him.

It had been the worst feeling in the world, second only to the grief of losing Sirius and Dumbledore.

"I…don't remember anything after that," Harry whispered. Something had happened after that. He was sure of it. Otherwise he would not be here. Had Voldemort entered his mind in some new way that required Occlumency again? Had he done something to especially anger Snape?

Somehow he felt neither of these guesses were the answer. He stared determinedly at the frayed threads of the quilt. He clutched it with white knuckles, and then saw this and immediately let go.

"I see."

Snape's dark brooding eyes were still staring at Harry, and Harry hated it. When he turned his head to glare at Snape and opened his mouth about to retort something heated, he was shut up by the lazy smile that Snape had on his face, and the way his eyelids dipped down to reveal long lashes, before those eyes were on him again and that face became suddenly serious.

"You were attacked, Mister Potter."

The words were like a gong in the night.

"What?" Harry noticed the oddly normal tone Snape used on him, the "Potter" instead of something derisive, but he was too strung up suddenly to bring attention to it. "Was it Voldemort?"

The hand that had been tickling the edges of the wrist wound suddenly clutched over the left forearm, where the Dark Mark lay beneath. Harry smiled at Snape's sudden movement. Served him right. Lying, cheating, murdering bastard…he could kill him now. This was his perfect chance.

Dumbledore had been wrong. Snape cared for nothing and no one but himself, why would he be faithful to Dumbledore? What could he have done to make Dumbledore trust him?

Snape's voice was clipped now. "No, it was not the Dark Lord. It was a pack of demons. They got inside of your body somehow, and took over. You are responsible for the injuries of over forty students; I thought you would like to know."

Gone was the ordinary, bland tone that Snape had been using, replaced by the condescending, smug tone Harry was used to. Harry curved his fingers into fists at his sides, shaking.

Demons! How was that possible? Where had they come from? Snape had said _inside of his body_…just like the creatures in his nightmares…

"I want my wand," Harry hissed, torn by the urge to blast Snape apart or shake the man until he gave Harry all the answers to his questions. Surely this was why he was here; everyone thought Snape, as the DADA professor, was the right man to do the job of exorcising demons.

"You cannot have it, I'm afraid," Snape drawled, and stood up from his chair, which he transfigured back into a vial. Harry sat in fury, waiting as the man replaced the vial on a shelf, and then came around to stand by the back of the couch.

He looked at Harry amusedly as Harry glared at him.

"WHY?" Harry bellowed. "GIVE ME MY WAND!"

"Potter, Potter," Snape whispered, "Do be calm. We wouldn't want them taking you over again…" He stroked his hand up into Harry's hair, brushing over his scalp in a calming gesture.

Harry froze, and then grabbed Snape's hand and flung it away. "Don't. Touch. Me. What are you…what are you going to do about this?"

Snape smirked again. "You mean, what are _we_ going to do about this, Potter. You are going to help me. We'll be a team, you and I."

The man did not hear the swear words that Harry said to his back when he left the room, and returned all too soon, albeit with a tray of steaming vegetable pie, eggs, toast, and a glass of cool pumpkin juice.

"You are strong enough to hold this now, right?" He asked Harry as he stood, waiting.

"Of course I can, you –"

"Shut that foul mouth, Potter, or I'll take House points. Now eat."

The tray was put none-too-gently over Harry's knees, and Harry realized suddenly that he was ravenously hungry. He grabbed the fork and spoon and began to eat. He was beyond caring that Snape was still there, at least for now. The Potions Master's tinkering in the background did not bother him, nor the way the professor occasionally glanced at him over his cauldron work. He was SO HUNGRY!

When he was done, he lifted his head. "Is there any more?"

A hushed, "Sshhh," came from across the room. Harry looked over. Snape stood bent over his cauldron, tipping golden, sparkling bits of something into his cauldron very slowly. One. Two. Three tips.

Then he looked up, and wordlessly pointed his wand. Harry shivered, remembering the last time Snape had pointed his wand at Harry, how they had fought at the gates to Hogwarts after Dumbledore died…

Food appeared again on Harry's tray, and he ate it with equal speed and enjoyment. When he was done, he sat back and closed his eyes.

There was no way he was going to sit around here while Snape experimented on him. He was going to get his wand and leave. Maybe it was even time he left Hogwarts altogether. He had to look for horcruxes as Dumbledore had instructed him.

"Mister Potter," Snape barked. "I would be more careful what you think 'aloud,' in that dull brain of yours, if I were you. What you are searching for is vital for the solving of anything, since many problems can be blamed on the Dark Lord. He is going to soon be looking for what you are, too, since Dumbledore already destroyed some. Be careful."

Harry opened his mouth to say something furious. How did Snape know about the horcruxes? But Dumbledore had trusted Snape, of course he knew. The 'be careful' was not mocking. Snape was serious.

Hmph. Snape, pretending to care, pretending to be his friend! He wouldn't doubt the food had been poisoned, except that he knew Snape was a Death Eater, and as such, he knew that Voldemort wanted to kill Harry himself.

"You have me here, wandless and alone," Harry said. "Why not bring me to him?"

Snape continued in stirring his potion, and for a minute Harry thought he wouldn't answer. Then, whispering, "Ten," Snape stopped stirring and looked up.

"If I deign to answer your question, Potter, I doubt you would believe anything I said. There is no right answer to your question, for you already have a set idea in your mind of who I am and what motivates me."

They stared at each other, and then Harry frowned and looked away. He stared into the fire as Snape sneered, "You know nothing of me, Potter."

"Who would want to?" Harry murmured. He was watching the fire now, gazing into its flickering lights, and he felt suddenly like his mind became a little sleepy. He kept staring at the fire, watching the way sparks flew up, listening to their popping sound, which was very loud in his ears.

He found himself rolling down weakly from the couch, and reaching a hand out to the fire. As soon as his hand got within a foot of the flame, he yelped in pain. "OUCH!"

Even his voice seemed too loud in his ears.

Disturbingly, his pain brought Snape immediately, and the man grabbed Harry's hand and inspected it. Deeming it fine, he was about to heave Harry back onto the couch.

"Wait a second," Harry hissed, "Can't you do that with your wand?"

Snape chuckled. "You think I can't lift you, Potter? I carried you here from the Great Hall. You're as light as a feather."

"I can do it myself -"

Snape watched as Harry attempted to lift his body up from the floor. All it did was send a searing headache striking into him, and the fire got even more bothersome to be near to. He felt like his face would burn off if he remained this close to it any longer. He was about ten inches away, but it _burned_!

Rolling his eyes, Snape took out his wand and whisked Harry onto the couch with a flick. "There. Now tell me what hurt."

Harry gnawed at his lip, refusing to answer.

"Potter," Snape growled. "If you don't let me help you, you'll be stuck like this until I find out how I can strengthen you. And when you're not like this, the demons will be controlling you. Who knows what they'll make you do next…"

Something about his tone made Harry wonder, what had they already made him do? It sounded bad…

"What did they make me do, Snape. Tell me."

"Ah, the legend speaks. I will tell you the horrific details, Mister Potter, if you tell me what made you cry out in pain. Was it the fire?"

Harry nodded sullenly. He hated being around Snape like this! It was bad enough in classes. No matter what Snape had said, he would get his wand and leave.

"You're such a brat when you're not feeling well. At least it's easier to pry answers out of you."

Smirking, Snape resumed his position over the cauldron.

"Wait! Aren't you going to tell me what happened? What did the demons make me do?"

Snape tilted his head, greasy hair falling down lower on one shoulder. "Do you really want to know?"

"Yes."

When Snape was done telling him, Harry shut his eyes, trying not to show his reactions at all on his face, because he was sure Snape was watching him.

Merlin's tomes…he had injured tons of students, from his own House and Slytherin. He had shamed McGonagall to the whole school, effectively, by proving her unable to overpower him. He had kissed some _boy_ in front of _the entire school_, and drank his blood…

That was it. He was definitely leaving. After hearing that, even hunting horcruxes with a bickering Ron and Hermione, with little clues, sounded suddenly like paradise! He would go up against dementors and Voldemort himself, rather than show his face to the school again. Injuring innocent people…

Shame was the next emotion that gutted him, after hot embarrassment that flooded his cheeks red. He had hurt people, and many. Yes, he had been out of control and taken over, like an Imperius curse, but _still…_his magic, raw and unchained, had struck out. It had broken bones and burned skin. It had hurt people that were innocent and deserved nothing like that. It had made an impression on them that they would never forget.

He felt like he was going to be sick, but because Snape was right there, he held it back.

The next chance he got, he was going to nick Snape's wand from under the professor's big nose.

* * *

_Sorry not much happened. I'll work on that! Heh. Got some ideas for the next chapter already. _


End file.
